


Executing the Plan

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [55]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Tawse, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 55: Carriage.  The Winchesters arrive at another family friend's place, in the hopes that the man might be able to help Sam gain more control over the visions. Sam begins learning, and Dean learns a harsh lesson on keeping his mouth shut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executing the Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.
> 
> No disrespect is intended towards the faith of Santeria, as a matter of fact, just the opposite - it's a very beautiful, complex culture.

Sam’s distracted by the clip-clop of horse hooves, outside drawing carriages through the historic district. He’s thinking about traveling, thinking about what it would be like to ride with Dean in one of those carriages without a care in the world, wondering if he can get Dean into bed later, since they’ve been careful to get suites lately. He’s pretty sure where the money’s coming from, pretty sure that John or Bobby or Jim or someone is funding their new adventure with high stakes poker, and he knows just how chancy that can get, and really it makes him a little nervous, and – SMACK!

Sam jumps, and focuses on the man across from him, nervously eyeing the ruler in the man’s hand. The older santero had just smacked the oaken table with it, but Sam wasn’t so sure that the man wouldn’t apply it to his backside or his hands. Dean surely wouldn’t allow him to hit Sam’s hands, right?

“SAMUEL.” The deep voice yanks him back again, and he focuses blearily on his father’s friend, looks at Mathieu Dauphin, child of Ochossi, and Sam’s current protector and teacher. Sam rubs a weary hand over his face.

“I think I’m done in, Mathieu,” he offers tentatively, and gets a wide smile in return.

“For once the child is right. Let me call your brother.”

“I can get it.” A stern eyebrow holds him in place, as he starts to rise to head upstairs.

“You need me to lift the protections, child, and you’ll want to be listening to me so I’ll do it instead of leaving you to practice longer.”

Sam sighs and slumps in his seat. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t fall asleep and topple out of his chair. The older man heads to the stairs, calls up, then returns to Sam, putting his hands on the boy’s broad shoulders. Sam can feel energy trickling slowly into him.

“Build your protections up, Samuel. I will support you.”

Sam slowly, carefully restores the shielding, everything Jim and Missouri taught him, and what he knows he can manage of Mathieu’s teachings. He can feel the man’s eyes on him, and he just succeeds in finishing when he hears his father’s footsteps on the stairs. Damn, he wanted his brother, not dad. The santero left his side for a moment to raise the protections on the staircase, and John walked softly up, assessing his son. Sam was irritated by the assessment, but made an effort to quash the irritation, especially when it took both of the big men to help him to stand. He was divested of the white robe he wore over his clothing, and the white cloth binding his hair back, covering his head. Good. They really were done for a while.

John helped him slowly up the stairs, and Sam didn’t quite register what it was that Mathieu handed his father before they went up, at least not until John was wrapping his hand around a bottle of Ensure.

“Aw, Dad…”

“Nothing for it, Sam. I don’t want to discuss this.”

Sam made a face and downed the nasty drink, thankful it was practically frozen. He took a deep breath, and John’s hand steadied him as his stomach lurched against the intrusion of the rich liquid, and then settled a few minutes later. He was only vaguely aware of John laying him down on the bed, covering him up, last thought musing over whether they were drugging the beverages they were giving him or not.

John spent a few minutes sitting with his youngest son, stroking the long hair, wiping away the tears of exhaustion that would sometimes trickle from Sam’s eyes as he fell asleep. He’d been working hard, driving himself into the ground – it was the first time that the boy had made it up the stairs under his own power. At least the exhaustion had the kid tractable. Still, he needed to have a word with Mathieu before Dean came back in.

“He’s overworked, Mattie.”

“He’s got to learn when to stop on his own, John.”

The words stop John in his tracks. “You mean you’ve let him…”

“Yes.”

“He’s not supposed to be-“

“I know.”

“He’s taking a break. We can go elsewhere for a few days if it’s an issue.”

“Easy down, papa bear. I agree. So do the orisha, but you don’t give that information to that child. I’m hoping he’ll come to the same conclusion when he comes to this time.”

John nods wearily. If Sam doesn’t, there’s gonna be a ruckus. At least Mathieu understands the relationship the boys have. The santero isn’t in a relationship right now, not after his last partner died, but when he was, his role was always dominant. He’d spent the last two evenings giving Dean a bit of advice on the matter.

Speak of the devil, he thinks, as the older boy lets himself in, arms full of groceries. He’s not worried about Dean yet, but the kid’s been quiet these past few days. It probably just chalks up to worry over Sam, or the conversations that Mathieu’s been having with the boy late at night. Not to mention wondering where Mathieu is getting the energy to teach the three of them, and coach Dean in his… well, domly endeavors, John thinks with a smirk.

Dean gives the older men a narrow look, as he stows the groceries in their places. At least he doesn’t have KP duty too. His cooking sucks.

“Sam?”

“Let him sleep, boy. He volunteered the fact that he was tired for the first time today.” It takes Dean a minute or two to process the meaning behind that, and his face flushes with anger. John gets up and stands behind him as Mathieu shakes his head. “With luck, he’ll realize he’s too worn out to continue when he wakes.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“We’ll deal with that then,” the santero says serenely, ignoring Dean’s scowl.

“Dean, where are you with the chores.” John’s hoping to stave off an argument. His oldest son frowns, running the list over in his mind.

“Done, I guess. Got everything Mathieu asked for caught up this morning,” he said.

“Good job, son. Looks like you’ve got the afternoon off. Look, let Sam sleep for an hour or two more on his own before you go up.”

Dean nods, understanding John’s meaning. Sam succumbed to sleep on his own, and the last thing they want to do is disturb that much needed sleep. Dean’ll go on up after Sam’s been down for 2 or three hours, before the nightmares start up. They’ve been particularly vivid since their arrival, but Mathieu won’t do anything about them, except make Sam relate them. That in itself has been a fight, and none of them have taken a paddle to Sam’s deserving butt – yet. It’s gonna happen soon, Dean thinks, because each round of arguing is more vehement, and one of them is going to have to shorten the leash soon. He grunted, and then realized that both his father and Mathieu were watching him.

“Sorry.” His aggravation returns, as the men continue their observation. He’s tired himself, running around like a fucking housewife, trying to look after Sam, though it’s not easy when the boy is either unconscious, arguing about eating, or with Mathieu, and he doesn’t want to hear crap about how Mathieu’s been letting Sam get run down. He’s startled when both of the big men move towards him with thunderous looks on their faces. _Oh shit._

“Uh, that wasn’t out loud, was it?” Oh shit. When is he gonna learn to keep his mouth shut?

“Perhaps you need a lesson in self control, Dean,” comes Mathieu’s deep voice.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” Unfortunately it comes out more of a question than an apology, and John’s yanking him out of his chair. He can see John thinking, and he’s not happy, knowing what his father is debating over. Dean knows exactly what rules he’s broken, and he’s in for it, no choice in the matter. His father doesn’t take insubordination lightly, nor does he overlook being rude to a host.

“Matty, why don’t you do the honors, you have my apologies for him as well. I’ll take care of the issue between he and I later.” His father’s voice is gruff and stern, letting Dean know there’s no wiggle room here, that he’s pissed at Dean’s thoughtlessness. “Dean, you’re to stay down here. I’ll be upstairs with Sam, and I’ll deal with you later.” With that, John sets his coffee mug in the sink and heads up the back stairs.

Dean’s left looking at the big man like a deer caught in the headlights. Mathieu’s told him enough about the discipline relationships he’d topped in over the past years that he knows one thing. He is wholly, absolutely screwed, because it’s the sort of thing the guy doesn’t tolerate.

“Come with me, young man.” The deep voice is hushed with promise, gentled with regret.

“Mathieu – Mathieu, I’m sorry, I-“

“Whatever you need to say, had best be said walking.”

Dean takes the hint and shuts up, trailing along behind him, mute with the knowledge that he knows the guy’s character well enough after a few days to understand there’s no escape. They enter the library, and Mathieu gestures for him to close the door. Dean stands at the edge of the rug, not quite knowing what to do. He didn’t recall being this uncomfortable with Tess, the first time she spanked him.

He goes a little pale as Mathieu opens a cupboard in the corner, and turns back around with a four tailed leather tawse. The older man takes a seat on the leather sofa, and beckons to Dean. He moves reluctantly forward, aware that if he balks or runs the only thing that the effort will net him will be John catching him, hunting him down, and dragging him right back here. Not to mention doubling the punishment the second Mathieu might finish. Not appealing.

Instead, he simply follows the terse command of jeans down, and allows Mathieu to yank him across his lap. He can’t stop the inadvertent wiggle when his boxers are pulled down, and it earns him a sharp swat. The older man doesn’t hesitate, just lays in with the tawse. The strokes are laid down from the top of his bottom down to the top of his thighs, lighting an orderly, painful fire. The burn is incredible, and Dean cries out on the sixth stroke, unable to keep it to himself. Mathieu pauses.

“You have something to say?”

Dean chokes, gasps for air. His backside has never felt this awful, not after just six strokes. “I’m sorry I was rude, sir.” He has a little trouble getting the words out, but Mathieu seems to be waiting patiently.

“I see.” The tawse comes down another half dozen times, and Dean’s face is a brilliant shade of red now, embarrassed that he can’t hold still, eyes bright with tears. The blaze covering his backside has doubled, easily, and he can’t take any more. The fidgeting doesn’t seem to bother the santero, though, he’s just held a little more firmly. “Perhaps you could chance a guess at why you’ve behaved that way?”

There’s silence, and when he feels Mathieu raise the tawse again, Dean finds himself babbling. “I’m tired and frustrated and I didn’t mean to take it out on you and I’m so sorry please!” He’s horrified to find that he’s crying.

“Thank you. Finish up, shall we?” Another six strokes, and then his boxers are replaced, and Mathieu is standing him up and buttoning Dean’s jeans for him. He doesn’t even want to look at the older man. The incredible pain from the tawse radiates through him, intensifying as his pants rub on his backside. Mathieu pulls him around to stand before him, giving Dean a gentle smile.

“Not much fun, is it.”

“Nosir.”

“You’re wondering why I was so hard on you.”

Dean nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“You’ve been cruising for a paddling since you got here, boy. I realize you have better skills than housework and errands, but it’s what’s needed, right now. You’ve been letting that aggravation bleed into your lessons with me, and I’ll not have it, understand? Now, we’re taking a break for a few days, and I expect you to take your brother in hand, because looking at you right now, I don’t think we want to find Samuel over my knee, and he’s been tempting me as well. Understood?”

“Yessir.” Dean’s surprised to find his voice is hoarse.

“Excellent. You’ll wait right here for John. I’d make the suggestion that you could perhaps do with a little rest yourself, young man, but that’s more your father’s responsibility than mine. I don’t expect he’d mind to find you sleeping here.”

“Yessir.”

Matheiu left with a smile on his face, knowing he’d made his point, if a bit harsh. He’d heard too many of John’s stories about the boy not to be. Dean fidgeted where he’d been left standing, and finally laid down on the couch with a sigh. He doubted he’d sleep, but maybe he could try and forget about what had happened, and just not think about his upcoming chat with John. He pulled a novel from the bookcase and settled down – and was asleep within minutes.


End file.
